


Compromise

by elliex



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Boundaries, Brotherly Bonding, Team Free Will, human cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2013-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-28 15:01:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/993278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliex/pseuds/elliex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the SPN Prompt "Compromise"</p><p>Sam, Dean, and Cas figure out some boundaries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Compromise

+

The first time it happened, Sam had been thoroughly amused, and he had given Dean shit about it _for days_.

He, Dean, and Cas had been hunting a werewolf outside of Cincinnati; it was meant to be a trial run for Cas, help him to adjust to hunting and fighting as a human. 

But little in their lives went as planned. 

The werewolf had a couple of werewolf friends, but the hunters didn’t realize it until they’d been cornered in a warehouse. The hairy fight left Sam with a cut in his leg, Dean with scratches across his chest, and Cas with a gash in his arm. The werewolves fared worse, and each died bloody. 

Sam had always been better at containing his post-hunt-high. Dean, though, was usually a different story: antsy, hyper... _kinetic_. 

So on the drive back to the motel, Sam overlooked Dean’s bouncing knee and tapping fingers, knowing that this was par for the course. He looked behind him into the backseat, checking on Cas, who was sitting still, eyes closed, and holding a bandana to his wound. 

At first, Sam thought that Cas was simply his usual calm self. But then he noticed the tightness of the former angel’s jaw, the tension in his limbs, the whiteness of the knuckles applying pressure. 

Huh, Sam thought. Cas’s human response to hunting was definitely not simply calm. He looked over at his brother, wondering if he should say anything, and noticed Dean watching their friend in the rearview, concern evident in the lines around his eyes.

The tension in the car continued to build, so Sam stayed quiet. 

They got back to the motel and commenced to patching themselves up. Dean cleaned Sam’s wound before applying antiseptic ointment and butterfly bandages. 

“Good as nearly new,” Dean smirked. 

“Your turn,” Sam said. “And hold still.” Dean was nearly bouncing he was so amped up. Luckily, his wounds were relatively simple this time, too: clean, treat, bandage, and done. 

Both turned to look at Cas, who was sitting in a plastic chair and staring off into space. The clenching of his jaw was obvious. 

“You okay there, Cas?,” Sam asked. 

“I think I’m feeling the effects of adrenaline,” Cas said. “It’s - uh – complicated.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, it can be.”

Dean laughed. “Well, let’s get you fixed up, and you’ll feel better.” He gestured towards the bed. “You’re going to need at least a couple of stitches for that one.”

Dean dug through the medic’s kit and pulled out what he needed. “Here, Sam,” he said, pulling the car keys out of his pocket and tossing them to his brother. “While I fix Cas up, why don’t you get us some grub.”

“Sure,” Sam said. 

There was a late-night burger joint just down the road, and business was booming. Cars snaked around the building, so Sam abandoned the drive-thru to park and go inside. But it was just as busy in there: hordes of bored teens and nightowls in general had the line to the door. 

Sam sighed but kept his place in line. The only other burger place in sight had arches, and he couldn’t take that processed food tonight. This place might be slow, but it was obvious through the clear glass window into the kitchen that the burgers were being grilled fresh. 

When he finally placed his order, he took a number and waited outside until it was called, enjoying the warm night air and the soothing sounds of cicadas and the light wind rustling the leaves of the trees surrounding the parking lot. 

Some thirty minutes later, his order was finally ready. He grabbed it and hauled ass to the motel, expecting to get chewed out by two starving hunters for taking so long. The smells emanating from the bag assured him that both Cas and his decidedly carnivorous brother would quickly get over any irritation, though. 

When Sam opened the motel room door, he nearly dropped the bag and the tray of drinks. 

The room was in a shambles. Sam stamped down his panic and did a quick inventory, looking for signs of what had done this. 

It took him a second. Or two. 

But then he noticed that while, yes, the table was on its side, and the chairs askew, and the bed closest to the door was stripped of its comforter – there was no blood, there were no broken bodies. 

The salt lines remained intact. The portable devil’s trap was empty. The hex bags were in place.

Then he heard the shower. And he heard the rumble of his brother’s voice – _and the rumble of Cas’s_. 

That was when Sam noticed other things: Boots lying on the floor where they’d obviously bounced off the wall after being thrown; plaid shirts decorated with werewolves’ blood, sweaty t-shirts, and torn jeans tossed to and fro; and then Sam saw the boxer briefs, twisted inside-out after apparent quick-removal… 

Sam felt his face burn with such intensity that he was sure he’d complement that blue kid in the Willy Wonka movie. He heard the shower knobs squeaking, and he swiftly and silently stepped back outside and shut the door, taking the food with him. Three long strides had him at the driver’s door of the Impala, and he quickly cranked her back up, letting the car run at full rumble. 

He only had to wait a moment before he saw a shadow pass in front of the window, and he cut the car’s engine. Grinning, he headed back for the door. 

Unlocking and swinging it open, he caught Dean and Cas – freshly showered and wearing pajamas – mid-clean-up. Dean was setting the furniture to rights as Cas collected their randomly tossed clothing. 

Sam fixed his brother with _that look_. 

Dean looked over at Cas, who was looking everywhere but at Sam. His brother’s cheeks pinked, but he simply shrugged and gave Sam a shameless grin. 

Sam rolled his eyes, tossed the food on the now-upright table, and divvied up the goods. 

Dean turned the television to some terrible sci-fi flick, and the three of them dug in. Sam couldn’t help shooting amused looks at Dean and Cas, noting the blooming hickey peeking out from the collar of Cas’s t-shirt, and the stubble burn on Dean’s neck. 

Without taking his eyes from the screen, where a prehistoric shark was hunting swimmers along the shore, Dean growled at him. “Stop it, Sam.”

“Stop what, Dean?,” Sam asked innocently. 

Dean turned to glare at him, but all he did was reveal the hickey under his jaw. Sam collapsed into laughter. 

“What’s so funny?,” Cas asked. 

Sam laughed even harder. 

+

The second time it happened, Sam wasn’t as amused. They’d taken out a small vamp nest in the middle-of-nowhere Minnesota, and they staggered into the motel dirty and exhausted. 

Dean ordered pizza and sodas, and they took turns showering while they waited on dinner. An hour later, clean, fed, and exhausted, they all fell into bed. 

By unspoken agreement, Cas had always shared Dean’s bed when there wasn’t a sofa bed available. In the two weeks since the post-werewolf-killing-shenanigans, though, even when they did have a sofa bed, it remained empty.

Sam was fine with the new sleeping arrangements – really. In the mornings, he was always up first, and he never saw anything that made him feel awkward. Sometimes, Dean would have an arm flung over Castiel’s sleeping form, or vice versa, but that was all. 

Sam was dreaming about playing basketball. He dribbled the ball down the court before attempting a shot, but it bounced off the backboard. 

Something about the dream didn’t feel right, though. Despite his height, Sam wasn’t much of a basketball player: running, yoga, martial arts – these were physical activities Sam willingly did. 

The bouncing of the ball grew louder, and dream-Sam realized he wasn’t the one bouncing it. The sound grew louder, and Sam opened his eyes to a dark room. 

He could still hear the thump-thump of the ball. As his awareness seeped back, Sam waited for the dream to fade away, but it didn’t – it only got louder.

Then he realized what he was hearing. 

“ _Dammit, Dean_ ,” he yelled, scrambling out of the bed. Maybe his brother and Cas had the grace to stop for a moment – he didn’t know because he sure as hell wasn’t looking. He just grabbed his pillow, a blanket, and the Impala’s keys and stumbled out the door. 

Barefoot on the cold concrete, Sam became fully conscious of the fact that he was standing outside his motel room door, wrapped in a blanket, and his pillow clutched to his chest while his brother and his best friend had sex. 

Dear God. He could hear the bed thumping against the wall from out here. Sam wondered how in the world he’d slept as long as he had. 

As Dean and Cas’s voices raised in pitch, Sam headed for the Impala and crawled into her back seat. 

He tried to go back to sleep _without_ thinking about the images that involuntarily accompanied the sounds he’d heard. 

+

A week later, they brought down a particularly fierce rougarou. Sam had twisted his ankle and had spent most of the fight off to the side, trying to stay out of the way as Dean and Cas tag-teamed to take the monster down. 

Sam watched as the two moved in sync. Their rhythm was different than what he and Dean had; trained by their father, their movements were so familiar that they could practically communicate telepathically when fighting. But Dean and Cas had definitely developed their own rhythm, separate from the easy coordination of action and instinct that Team Free Will enjoyed as a whole.

After the rougarou had been killed, Dean and Cas helped Sam to the car. 

“When we find a motel, we’ll get you some ice and order a pizza,” Dean said. “You’ll need to stay off that ankle for the next day or so, so we’ll just take it easy – maybe even rent some movies.”

Normally, Sam didn’t mind a day off, but he observed how energy was roiling off of Dean in his usual, post-hunt high. The joint in Cas’s jaw was prominent, betraying that he was also wound tighter than a drum. 

“Want me to check and see where the closest place is?,” Sam asked, pulling out his smartphone and sounding as innocent as he could manage.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Dean said. 

+

Dean navigated the Impala into a parking space at the Rose Hill motel. Despite his messed up ankle, Sam vaulted out of the car and headed for the office. 

“Sam? Where are you going? Dean or I can take care of registering,” Cas said. 

Sam waved him off. “Nah, I already did the online thing, so they might need my signature.”

He could feel Dean’s narrowed gaze on him, but he refused to meet his brother’s eyes and hobbled towards the office. Dean knew as well as he did that any of the three of them could pretend to be Edward Smith and sign in. 

\+ 

As Sam limped back to the car, Dean and Cas were both leaning against it, arms folded, duffels on the ground at their feet. They watched his approach suspiciously. 

Sam shrugged at them and tossed Dean a key. Then he dangled a second key at them. 

“And what’s that?,” Dean asked. 

“What’s it look like?,” Sam said. “Listen, I love you guys, and I’m glad that you’re finally figuring shit out – _But_ ,” Sam emphasized, “you’re not waking me up again because you’re fucking like rabbits – got it?”

“Yeah,” mumbled Dean.

“Okay,” Cas said.

Both hunters were staring at the pavement, their cheeks pink, and Sam couldn’t help but laugh.

“It's not a big deal, guys. I'm happy for you. And we’re still Team Free Will – we’re just exercising that free will in different rooms that do _not_ share adjoining walls.”

He hobbled towards his room but then paused and looked back at the still-frozen forms of his brother and his friend. 

“Y’all moving or not?”

+

They ate dinner in Sam’s room, after Dean iced his brother’s ankle and doled out some painkillers. 

About halfway into a Jackie Chan movie, Dean and Cas called it a night. Sam pretended not to notice that Cas took Dean’s hand in his as they went out the door. Sam smirked to himself, knowing that the two were as relieved to be alone as he was that they _were_ alone.

Carb-loaded, medicated, and drowsy, Sam lay on his bed and let himself sink into sleep. Sometime later, he found himself staring up at the ceiling, and he wondered why he was awake. 

Then he realized. 

_Dammit_ , he groaned, rolling onto his side and pulling the pillow over his head. 

At least they weren’t in the same room. But next time, he was getting a room _at least_ three doors down. 

+


End file.
